


Another Quiet Night

by ManicMuppit



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Audio 029: Serenity (Torchwood), Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21572125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ManicMuppit/pseuds/ManicMuppit
Summary: Jack obsesses over normality, while Ianto obsesses over Bond.It's another quiet night in Serenity Plaza.(set during the 'Serenity' audio from Big Finish)
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 14
Kudos: 114





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t even that late in the evening. They’d skipped the end of the weekly barbeque with the neighbours in favour of going back to theirs (‘home’ Ianto had said to creepy Vanessa, offhandedly, easily, and Jack’s traitorous heart had flip-flopped). Mainly because they could take advantage of the novelty of normality, especially as they had the excuse of ‘being undercover’. Also because time alone was scarce enough nowadays, (and as much as he loved his team), private time with Ianto was definitely his favourite time. And now he had an abundance of it.

It was a pleasant evening in Serenity Plaza, perfect as always (strangely warm for South Wales), and the short walk had been made all the more pleasant by the amount of alcohol they’d been poured; wine-drunk Ianto was softened around the edges and all too happy to give in to Jack’s more tactile nature, a fact that pleased him in all manner of ways. He’d laughed at Jack’s stupid stories instead of fondly rolling his eyes and once they’d gotten home they’d skipped their usual routine of collapsing in front of the TV for a shared and very thorough shower.

Now they were collapsed on the bed; completely satisfied in every way and utterly unable to move. Some action film or another was on in the background, and Ianto had uncharacteristically fallen asleep pretty early on, cuddled into Jack’s side like he was always meant to be there, duvet kicked very firmly away. His hair was still damp from the shower and pressed against Jack’s cheek, and his fingers were gripping the soft, worn fabric of Jack’s t-shirt. 

He closed his eyes and just lay there, trying to enjoy the moment and just be present for once. A lamplit room, muted noise from the TV and his gorgeous, drunkenly clingy boyfriend (?) asleep in his arms. The fake ring on his left hand felt heavy and falsely permanent, and the matching one on Ianto’s glinted in the shifting light of the TV. It was nice. A life he could be living, and for the hundredth time that day he found himself dreading this little bubble of bliss being popped. 

His phone lit up from the bedside table and he tentatively reached over to grab it, trying in vain to only move his arm and not to dislodge Ianto from his sleep. 

The fingers in his shirt tightened and Ianto grumbled enough of a warning to make him stop in his tracks, before he slowly returned with the prize in his grasp. Angling the light of the phone away as best he could, Jack checked what had come up; dreading an emergency forcing him to have to get out of bed (not the first time he’d felt like that, and certainly not the last).The thought of sneaking out of the gated community without the freakishly weird neighbours noticing was exhausting. He’d not had to leave out of hours so far, happily leaving the team to pull a bit of weight in their absence.

One message, from Gwen. 

At least it wasn’t the PM this time, or that grumpy cow from UNIT. Or Swanson. He tapped on the notification and smiled. Oh Gwen Cooper, he thought, fondly.

Saw this and thought of you x  
21:46

Attached underneath was a picture. Ianto, holding a half-drunk pint while Jack was whispering something into his ear. His cheeks were flushed, eyes half closed and Jack knew exactly why. His hands had been wandering, and the conversation had been quiet but extremely explicit; resulting in their very quick and obvious exit (much to Owen’s dismay and Tosh’s cackled delight). Ianto was good at keeping composure; he’d made it into a fine art by this point, but even he had his limits. 

Especially after work, when he’d had a fair few pints and especially when Jack had cranked his own personal brand of flirting up to maximum, tipsy in his own right. Not that he’d ever seriously needed to of course. Ianto had pretty much always enjoyed it; had encouraged it, even.

Even from the start the connection had been there, laden with innuendo and although Jack was still a consummate flirt, none of it really meant anything (his mouth had a tendency to freewheel while his brain was catching up, but hey, there were worse flaws he could have). Except when it was directed at the man currently grumbling in his sleep against Jack’s neck. That evening in the pub had been a fair few weeks ago now, just before this whole cell 114 assignment had kicked off. 

He smiled. Even though he was back at the Hub most days, it looked like Gwen was missing them. Or the coffee at least, poor Ianto had been stuck here playing the gorgeous, dutiful, Stepford husband and hadn’t left Serenity Plaza since they’d gotten here. He seemed to be enjoying himself though, the idea of being undercover seemed to appeal to him. And he’d even enthusiastically indulged in a bit of domestic role-play with the barest nudge, scratching an itch Jack didn’t know he had. Ken and Ifan, fictional though they were, were a lucky couple. 

He took a moment to press a kiss against the damp scruff nestled against him, and looked at the photo again, burning that smile into his memories. He didn’t tend to think about what would happen in the future, had learnt over the decades to keep very firmly in the present. And Ianto, who’d lost both parents and a girlfriend within such a short space of time, who felt uncomfortable around his remaining family and who still threw himself into love with surprising ease and completeness, he’d been forced to learn the same lesson in the same, harsh way. No regrets, make the most of each day as it came. 

He wasn’t daft. He saw the way his boyfriend (?) looked at him, he’d deftly avoided the subject and pretended he’d not noticed, but sometimes even calling Ianto that word in his head was difficult enough; it was too laden with promises of false finality. Sometimes though, like right here and now with no-one else around, he could let himself just be. He knew somewhere in the nebulous, erratic mess of chemicals that made him ‘him’, that he loved Ianto back. But even daring to pretend to allow himself that moment was overwhelming. Especially when he knew it couldn’t last. 

“No.” 

There was a definite pout on Ianto’s face now; sleeping his way through whatever conversation he was having. Ugh, he was adorable. Another grumble, a few unintelligible words and then a frown. Jack chuckled, and made his decision. Phone forgotten and lost somewhere in the duvet, he gently turned and slipped an arm over Ianto’s waist, and paused. Sure enough, the tension in Ianto’s body slipped away and he nuzzled in closer, planting his face firmly against Jack’s chest.

“Jack.” He muttered, sounding incredibly exasperated. 

He fought the urge to laugh; even in sleep Ianto couldn’t escape. The hand gripping his t-shirt relaxed temporarily before Ianto decided that awake Jack was just as irritating and turned over to huff into his pillow. Jack followed him, curving his own body around and smiling into the nape of Ianto’s neck, enjoying the simple pleasure of their proximity. 

“Time is it?” 

Jack winced. Oops. Ah well, at least he got to enjoy those thick, sleepy Welsh tones before he was chucked out into the spare room.  
“Nearly ten. Sorry.” A placating kiss to the back of the head was worth a try.

“Wasn’t asleep.” 

“Could have fooled me.” 

Another huff of indignation was his only response, and then Ianto pulled away from him and onto his own side of the bed. Momentarily disappointed (and a little hurt), Jack was taken by surprise when Ianto not only rolled back over but decided to very specifically pin him down to the bed by straddling across him, kicking the duvet over beside them. The ever changing light from the TV hid most of his expression, but Jack knew that borderline feral smirk was in place.

“Well, well, well. Hello there Mr Jones.” 

He murmured, running his hands up Ianto’s thighs and taking full advantage of the moment to appreciate the broadness of his chest. He’d filled out deliciously and it was difficult to do anything but stare. He’d never been one to deny himself the simple pleasures, after all.  
“Stop ogling me.” Ianto grumbled, and then paused, tilting his head. 

It took a few seconds for Jack to realise what Ianto was after, before he sighed and dramatically (and obediently) put his hands above his head. No need to be tied down if he could behave, and contrary to popular belief, Jack was so very good at taking instruction. Especially when he knew what the benefits were going to be (and quite frankly the idea of actually being tied down was borderline terrifying nowadays, for reasons that Would Not Be Mentioned). The room tilted alarmingly for a second, and it occurred to him that he’d also had his fair share wine that evening. He didn’t tend to drink anymore, and he felt nostalgically lightheaded, but in a good way. 

No wonder he was feeling cocky. 

Ianto’s hands had travelled up his shirt and were now mapping his skin. He tilted forward onto his knees and leaned forward, making it obvious that he was taking full control. A loud clatter made them both jump as something breakable toppled onto the hardwood floor. 

“Shit.”

Ianto was off him and crouched on the floor in seconds, mobile in hand. He flipped it over, checking every possible angle for damage.  
“Good job it’s not an iPhone.” He said, placing it down on the bedside cabinet. “Not a scratch. I told you to leave it on here.”  
“It’s not my fault.” Jack grumbled in response, sitting up against the headboard and rubbing his fingers through his hair. “I got a text and you were being so damn clingy. I just kind of forgot.”

It was amazing to see the transformation from concerned to outraged, especially when Ianto was barely wearing anything.

“I am not clingy.” He snapped. 

“Uh huh.” Jack teased. “You can’t keep your hands off me.” 

Husband, he nearly continued, but that would have been a step too far. Ianto was a bit sensitive after all, and although Jack was definitely enjoying the illusion of happiness that they were playing, he knew it was still something that Ianto was a bit sore about.

A raised eyebrow. 

“Like you can talk.” Ianto said. “Owen’s sick of walking in on us having it off in your office.”

“Well, I mean, have you seen you?” Jack asked. “I mean, really? How am I expected to not react when you walk around in those suits?” 

“I suppose you’re only human.” Ianto agreed, getting up and back onto the bed, clambering over onto his side with a soft ‘oof’. “Mostly.” He amended.

“I was also being pinned down and ravaged two minutes ago.” Jack pointed out. “Can we get back to that? You know I love it when you get all dominant.”

A few moments passed in a dead silence, and when it was apparent that no response was forthcoming, he looked over to find Ianto was fixated on the TV screen, remote in hand. Mouth agape. Without even looking, he made a strategic guess as to what had distracted his fake-husband so thoroughly. 

“More Bond, huh?” he said teasingly. “You know, it feels like there’s three people in this marriage.”

That earned him a Level 2 Ianto Glare. Well it was good to know he was distracting enough in other ways, at least.

“Shut up.” he said. “Sort yourself out if you’re that desperate.”

“Nah, I can wait.” Jack said, and settled into the pillows, hands behind his head. “You’re worth it.”

He didn’t even need to look over to know that he’d gained a few points for that. When Ianto relented and cuddled back against him, he figured another hour or so until the film ended was a small price to pay. He was a pretty OK fake-husband, after all. 

“You know,” he said quietly, “I’ve spent a fair amount of time avoiding myself, once I settled in a little town just shy of Oxford.” 

Not even the slightest twitch. Time to bring out the big, metaphorical guns. 

“According to the Agency, I was pretty good at blending in,” His voice was lower, softer, consonants slower and fully enunciated, “especially when given the right…incentive.”

That part was true, at least. Javic had been an exceptional agent, when he put the effort in. It had been convincing him to keep his winning streak going that had sent his superiors around the bend. He just hadn’t seen the point half of the time. It was pretty liberating to be able to talk to Ianto about it too; before Hart's appearance it had been yet another part of himself he'd had to keep hidden.

He could feel Ianto’s racing heartbeat pressed against his side, the slight hitch in his breathing. The fingers resting on Jack’s chest now gripping the fabric of his t-shirt. Interesting. Not entirely unexpected though. It didn’t matter how often he denied it, Bond was definitely an obsession; the smart suits, snappy lines, fast cars. Adorable, really.

“I’ll add it to the list.” Ianto said, just as softly. “You’ll be needing a new suit.”

“Think I can get away with expensing it?”

Ianto laughed. “I’ll have a word.” He said. “Now shut up.”

After however many months it had been (he really should check), Jack knew when to keep quiet and when he could push back a little. Now was the time to be quiet, and to enjoy Ianto’s little mumbles as he spoke along with the actors on screen. Not that he’d ever admit it. The little addict. 

It was warm and cosy, and just one of those moments that filled him with a deep, heavy longing. He’d had other lovers before, not as many as he’d claimed, but they’d all been different in their own way. Some had been fiery and passionate like Lucia, burning out quickly while others had been gentle and full of promises, like his dear Estelle. 

And while some had found out about his problem with staying dead, it had always been there in the background. Angelo in particular; the inability to keep his mouth shut had ended in Jack being so traumatised that he’d skipped the country and kept to himself for years after, shaken by the trauma of constant cycle of death. He still found it difficult to open up even now, but that was the consequence of a life of violence and rejection. Even before the Game Station.

But Ianto. Oh how easy he made it to talk. Dependable, gorgeous, great in bed and unlike so many others he never pressured Jack into spilling his secrets. It took a lot to hold back; there was no way he was going to risk losing him over some of the things he’d done. Because of the man he’d been so long ago. He was changed now, he reminded himself, he was a better man. A good man. Mostly.

This thing they currently had was the closest Jack had come to being normal in decades. And when this extended assignment into Serenity Plaza had come up, he’d had to pull rank over Gwen and tell her in no uncertain terms that she was staying put in the hub with the others. She and Rhys had enough normality for the entire team, and to be honest, Ianto needed a break. A kind of working holiday. And if Jack got a whole shedload of unanticipated benefits on the side then he certainly wasn’t going to complain.

Every night for the past few weeks, he pulled through the main gates and when he parked up outside their perfect-on-the-outside house, Jack let himself believe it was real. Coming home from his boring but well-paid job to a hot meal on the table, cooked by his equally hot husband. Eating together at the table before opening a bottle of wine and relaxing in front of the TV for the night. Listening to Ianto complaining about the weird neighbours before distracting him into the bedroom. 

Three weeks of domestic bliss so far. 

Yeah there was the assignment; locating and removing the Sleeper Agent was proving tedious, but they’d get there. In the meantime, it was neighbourhood barbeques and meltdowns over the front lawn competition by day, and alien hunting and James Bond marathons by night.

Not a bad life really. 

_It would have been you_ , he realised, _if I were normal, it would have been you._

And the void opened up again, that dark and inescapable bleakness. That was always the danger; happy go lucky on the outside, never committing, constantly moving on. The alternative was to get attached and have to live with the fear. He didn’t know how to switch it off. Nearly two-hundred years and it was the most difficult, terrifying and unavoidable obstacle in his life.

“Jack?” 

He let out a slow breath and tried to slow his thoughts. _Don’t let him see_ . He opened his eyes (trying to remember when he closed them) and grinned when he realised Ianto was hovering over him, TV switched off. 

“Film over already?” he asked. “Time to hold up your end of the bargain, Mr Jones.”

There was a brief moment where Ianto was clearly desperate to say something, but decided against it and instead pressed a kiss against Jack’s forehead. He closed his eyes again, relishing in the contact, before pulling Ianto down for a proper kiss. 

Sometime later, and he lay curled up under the duvet, the little spoon for once. After their earlier excursion in the shower, Ianto seemed to have been in the mood for slow and drawn out. And he definitely knew how to make Jack beg, it had been one of his favourite skills to master. 

He laced his fingers through Ianto’s own and pressed himself back into their embrace. The only light was from the landing, which Ianto insisted stayed on, even though their bedroom door was mostly shut. 

“You can talk to me, if you need to.” Ianto said, quietly. 

His words hung in the comfort of the darkness, but they helped. He wouldn’t push for anything, he never did. 

“I’d even throw in a couple of retcon.” He added, with a slight tease to his voice. 

_I’m scared. I need you. Don’t leave me. I’m going to lose you. I love you. I hate being so lonely._

The thoughts torrented through one by one, repeating themselves while he managed to say “Thank you.” out loud. 

Maybe he’d find a way of dealing with it. Maybe he’d be able to talk about it at some point, but right now he just wanted to ignore it all and pretend that this moment was forever. For now, he was a happily married man in the bedroom of his perfect house, with their weird neighbours and their suburban rituals. Anything else was tomorrow’s problem. 

They had time.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ianto's evening with his 'futuristic nutter of a boyfriend/fake civil partner/ boss/ lover/ whatever they are'. 
> 
> Because he honestly isn't sure.
> 
> Little bit more angst in this one as Ianto's self confidence issues are pretty much his default setting. Bloody Torchwood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written at work, so apologies if there's any mistakes! (I was being sneaky, shhh don't tell my boss!). Also uploaded on my phone, so there might be some dodgy paragraphs and HTML bits here and there, but if I see 'em I'll fix 'em!
> 
> Generally flows with canon, but I might have taken a few liberties here and there. Gets slightly angsty towards the end, but that pretty much comes with the Janto territory I think! 
> 
> Also, huge shout out to Big Finish! Those guys are amazing for giving us so much quality untold stories! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Much love xxx

He was drunk. 

Vanessa had been gleefully topping him up since she’d forced the glass into his hand earlier that afternoon, and honestly Ianto could see the appeal of her half-hammered existence. All afternoon he and Jack had been pulled from one group to the next; as the newest residents they were still the biggest topic of conversation to hit this exclusive slice of suburban life. Even though they’d been in Serenity Plaza for weeks, half of the neighbours were still trying to collect them into their little social groups and so far Ken and Ifan had resisted the suburban lures, feigning ignorance. 

Then again, he’d forgotten to water the flowers on the front lawn once last week and Mary was still making little digs at about it. ‘Small problems for small minds’, Jack had said when Ianto had grizzled about it, and they’d laughed it off with a bottle of wine. After all, a month ago he’d been feeding a Pteranodon in an underground base in between defending Earth from alien attacks.

In comparison, Jack was still buzzing about the novelty of having a front lawn, bless him. He was having a great time. The novelty of normality and all that.

And actually, while he was on the subject, after the amount of effort he’d put into maintaining that fucking grass, they’d better be winning the best lawn competition soon or he’d be kicking off. Bob and Mary needed taking down a few pegs and there was only so much smugness he could stand. Pointless or not in the grand scheme of things, he was going to win it.

So he’d endured an afternoon of small talk about how the open cabinets in their kitchen was such a _bold_ choice, and subtle hints about how _brave_ their lifestyle was (and honestly, he knew she was talking about their supposed civil partnership but there was a small part of him that wondered if she _knew_ ). Jack had fared much better; he seemed to enjoy the idle chit-chat and mingling, as touchy-feely with him as any newly-wed would be.

Ever since Hart had let slip that he and Jack had been con-men together, he’d kept an eye out for any signs of it. And annoyingly, all he’d seen was that Jack was good at it, despite matching his pretend civil partner drink for drink. People loved talking to him and handing him information without a thought. If anything it made their assignment even more infuriating; the residents were all talking but not actually saying anything. Jack didn’t seem bothered by the banality of it at all, almost giddy with the change of pace compared to their actual real life.

The only way Ianto had gotten through the afternoon had been by gritting his teeth and downing a glass every time he got the urge to shoot someone. Hence why he’d been half-carried home.

If Jack had noticed the less than subtle digs directed towards them, he hadn’t said anything. He’d certainly not been drinking to compensate, either. He’d simply slipped an arm around Ianto’s waist when he was near staggering point and they’d luxuriated in the slow walk home, pausing briefly when Ianto had decided he absolutely had to shove Jack against a lamppost and snog him senseless. Then Jack had noticed a drop of wine on his shirt and had decided that they definitely needed to get home and wash it off, together in their shower. Thoroughly.

And Ianto, being the dutiful and wonderful civil partner that he was, already had their comfy clothes ready and waiting for afterwards; washed, and warm from the radiator. So he was certainly not to blame when he started drowsing during the first fifteen minutes of Goldfinger. Jack was wearing his softest t-shirt, and the combination of scent the fabric softener and Jack’s fingers tracing patterns across his back was enough to lull him into sleep-mode.

Some part of him registered the noise of the TV in the background, but he was happy enough to stay like this for now. He’d seen it so many times that he could probably pinpoint the scene from the soundtrack alone, but that would require effort and some sort of rational thinking.

Jack pulled away slightly, in some sort of attempt to dislodge Ianto from his embrace but fuck it, he was comfortable and Jack was going to just have to deal with it. He was far too tired to care what that might mean, or what Jack might think it meant. A light shone to his right and enough annoyance flew through his veins to power his eyelids open. He’d warned Jack about taking unflattering photos of him asleep, but the second he realised Jack was just scrolling through his messages he shrugged it off and let himself begin to drift off again.  
The arm around him pulled him in close and he felt Jack press a kiss against the top of his head.  
_  
‘I love you’_ Ianto thought instantly, _‘I love this, us’._ And it was so bittersweet. For all of his bluster and flirtatious manner, Jack was very attentive outside of work, both in and out of the bedroom (the latter being somewhat more of a surprise). The change in him from their original ‘reoccurring-one-night’ arrangement was surprising. Back then it had literally been a fantastic round or two of sex and then he was gone to ‘babysit the Rift’ or the Hub or both; occasionally rummaging through Ianto’s kitchen cupboards for food, but more often than not he’d leave Ianto tired out enough to sleep through until the morning. It was all they’d wanted at the time, all they’d needed.

Now, not only did Jack stay (and was apparently happy enough to pretend to be ‘civil partnered’ or whatever the right term was), outside of work he was very physically affectionate and half the time Ianto didn’t know how to handle it. He’d felt the same with Lisa; she loved holding his hand, kissing him in public, doing all of the usual PDA and it had felt just as overwhelming. And on top of that, Ianto honestly had no clue what Jack thought about them from day-to-day. He’d learnt time and time again from watching him clash with Gwen that he didn’t like to be pushed into a corner, and when it was just the two of them he seemed more relaxed and keen to open up a little, throwing out random titbits that Ianto was using to fill in the jigsaw that had been his life.

For instance, he knew Jack hated how cold Wales was (and wore his thick, heavy coat everywhere to compensate), simply because he’d grown up in the heat, but he loved the rain (and snow whenever they got it) because it had been so rare. He had zero table manners (except when on best behaviour) because he’d spent most of his life so far in one war or another and he appreciated being able to eat. He knew Jack hadn’t been (wouldn’t be?) born on Earth, that he was technically ‘on the run’ from the Time Agency and that he often slipped out of Cardiff in the dead of the night to go stargazing away from the city lights. It didn’t, however, tell him anything about how he felt about Ianto, and the day-to-day messages from him were a mixed bag at best.

Jack wriggled again and Ianto relented and graciously gave him his freedom; turning away and snuggling into his pillow instead, more confident in getting a decent kip from an inanimate object than his lover, boyfriend. Pretend civil partner. Whatever. Jack was here at least, and barring End Of The World Circumstances, he’d be staying put. There was some measure of comfort in that. Instead of getting out of bed, or carrying on playing on his phone like Ianto assumed he would, Jack decided to cuddle up to him instead, pulling him back into an embrace and dropping another kiss onto the back of his head. He was clearly hammered as well, a rarity in itself.

A thought flashed through his mind. ‘Shit,’ he thought, ‘did I put the bins out?’

Jack pressed up even closer behind him, and despite how warm and comfortable he was, Ianto knew Saint Fucking Mary from over the road wouldn’t be able to resist it if he missed the binmen in the morning. The flowers had been bad enough, he didn’t need to give the psychotic cow any more ammunition. Trouble was, right now he was finding it hard to care. He sighed, and decided to bite the bullet. Jack didn’t have to face them all day every day, but he did, and he’d never live it down back at the Hub if they found out that he’d shot the neighbours.

“What time is it?” he asked. If it was past ten he’d do it tomorrow.

Jack froze so quickly it was laughable.

“Nearly ten. Sorry” He said, apologetic and quiet.

Good. Nice to know he instilled some sort of fear in disturbing his sleep routine. He yawned and decided to let Jack off the hook. He wasn’t a total monster, after all.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t actually asleep.” He said, although some words may have been missing. Damn he was tired.

Jack laughed. Rude.

“Could have fooled me.” He replied, and very purposefully pressed the full length of his body against Ianto’s.

Shit. He really did have to put the bins out. Did Jack say it was past ten? Who the fuck knew anymore.

Right.

Bins first, then knacker Jack out, then sleep. Tidy. Sorted. Only halfway out of bed his wine-soaked brain almost tipped out of his skull and he realised that he didn’t actually give a flying fuck about the bins and all he wanted was Jack. The surprise and desire in his eyes was well worth changing his mind for, and he got an excellent view straddled across the top of him.

Naturally, such a successful start meant Jack managed to ruin his alcohol-driven attempt at seduction. This time by accidentally lobbing his phone onto the floor (their _‘this is not just a hardwood floor, this is an expensive, hand-cut, bespoke M &S hardwood floor’_ that had cost a bloody fortune, mind you), and then gazing up at Ianto with those big blue eyes, feigning ignorance and innocence at the same time. ‘That’s the last decent phone I get you’. He thought, viciously, as he retrieved it from where it had bounced.

“Good job it’s not an iPhone.” He said instead, choosing tact, and placed it down on the bedside table, where it should have been in the first place. “Not a scratch. I told you to leave it on here.”

“It’s not my fault.” Jack whined, like an actual child, and sat up against the headboard. Damn, how the hell did he get away with looking so shaggable when he was so fucking useless? A sly expression appeared on his face and Ianto prepared himself on instinct. “I got a text and you were being so damn clingy –“

Whatever else Jack might have said flew over Ianto’s head. Him? Clingy? When Jack was the one who’d spent half the afternoon with his hand on Ianto’s arse, who’d slung his arm around Ianto’s waist, who’d constantly been reaching out to hold his hand? When Ianto had been drinking since two to combat both the insipid, dreadfully dull neighbours and Jack’s apparent fetish for suburban life?

“I am _not_ clingy.” He snapped, and regretted it the instant Jack’s sly smile turned mischievous.

Ah, so that’s what he was after.

“Uh huh.” Jack teased. “You can’t keep your hands off me.”  
And then he had the audacity to settle himself down into the pillows and stretch out, displaying himself like some cheap porn star. The nerve of him. Fortunately Ianto knew the games that Jack liked to play, and he wasn’t going to be a part of it. Regardless of how turned on he was.

“Like you can talk.” he said instead, voice calm and level. “Owen’s sick of walking in on us having it off in your office.”

He was, to be fair. And Ianto found it hysterical (not that he’d ever tell Owen that). It had happened nearly half a dozen times in the past few months, even more when he’d discovered Owen’s abhorrence for it. Most of it was fairly innocent though; Jack was particularly tactile when his coffee was being withheld and Ianto definitely took advantage of that fact to get a decent snog. Although, in all honesty he was pretty surprised that Gwen had been the only one to walk in on them properly ‘going at it’ so far. Jack was pretty obsessed with his office, and his desk specifically. It’s ‘multifunctional’, he often said, and half the time Ianto couldn’t find fault with his reasoning. 

Owen didn’t see it like that though; he’d put his C in GCSE drama to good use each time, swearing and stumbling out of the office with hands over his eyes as though he’d witnessed them actually screwing right then and there.  
“It’s like seeing my brothers shagging.” He’d said at one point. Even though Owen was an only child and Ianto certainly counted his blessings that none of them were even distantly related. Working with an Englishman was bad enough, let alone being tied to one by blood. Especially one as annoying, rude and messy as Owen.

Meanwhile, Jack was still staring at him, eyes raking across Ianto’s bare skin like a predator waiting for his time to pounce. His lack of subtlety and shame was an irritating turn on. Ianto’s lack of clothes became quickly apparent; he must have chucked his shirt somewhere…did he even put it on in the first place? A waste of central heating, is what it was. He’d still lay them out on the radiator again tomorrow anyway. 

“Well, I mean, have you seen you?” Jack asked. “I mean, really? How am I expected to not react when you walk around in those suits?”

Or anything, really. Ianto thought, remembering how excitable Jack had been when he’d first seen Ianto in jeans and a t-shirt, and they hadn’t even been together then. Or when he first wore a waistcoat to work. Or wandering about the flat in Jack’s own shirt early one morning. Or when he’d been forced into a set of Owen’s scrubs when his own clothes (and back up outfit) had been destroyed. Jack had enjoyed that immensely. The tart. 

“I suppose you’re only human.” he agreed, decision made. He got up and slowly, very carefully clambered over onto his side before settling back down, decidedly not on top of Jack. A thought occurred to him. “Mostly.” He amended. Was Jack fully human? Or were there some weird alien ancestors somewhere in his family tree? Who knew, and honestly, he didn’t care. He probably wouldn’t get the truth from him anyway. And he wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to know.

“I was also being pinned down and ravaged two minutes ago.” Jack pointed out, hands reaching out again to lure Ianto into another session. “Can we get back to that? You know I love it when you get all dominant.”

He did, in fact he knew very well how much Jack liked it. Instead he ignored Jack’s grabby hands and picked up the remote. Fuck it, Jack wasn’t the only man in his life, and he was going to have to wait until the film was over before he got any. Mr Connery was more than enough of a distraction to make Jack squirm for a while. There was more than one way to pull rank, after all.

Speaking of which, Jack was wriggling about again, subtly trying to get his attention and failing spectacularly. He was often far more fidgety outside of the Hub, like he was trying to compensate for having to act like an adult for half the day. It was one of the reasons why Ianto loved taking control in the bedroom; Jack was good at behaving when he knew he was going to be rewarded for it. The ultimate bargaining chip.

“More Bond, huh?” he drawled teasingly, leaning over to nibble on Ianto’s ear. “You know, it feels like there’s three people in this marriage.”

Ianto pulled away and glared at him before he remembered that he was supposed to be ignoring him, turning his attention back to the screen quickly. _Don’t correct him,_ he thought, _don’t say a word. It’s what he wants. Don’t dignify him with an answer._

“Shut up.” he said, mouth betraying his brain. “Sort yourself out if you’re that desperate.”

To be fair, it was a decent comeback, considering how shaggable Jack was looking at the moment.

It was nice in a way though; Jack’s casual mislabelling of their fake civil partnership. Made it sound less clinical, more like a real relationship. Which they were, really. There were a few niggles that Ianto was holding onto, _‘was there anyone else’_ (which he definitely didn’t want to know the answer to, unless it was only him), _'do you love me’, ‘will you stay with me’, ‘am I enough’_ (he was working on trying to be optimistic).

But that wasn’t fair on Jack, they were Ianto’s own issues to deal with. Losing Lisa had made him much more desperate to cling to any sort of stability. No, not cling. He wasn’t clingy. He was grateful. Grateful for stability. And if Torchwood was good for anything it was stability. 

“Nah, I can wait.” Jack said, wriggling obscenely down into the pillows, hands behind his head. “You’re worth it.”

And he’d be fucked if that didn’t just fill him with a warm soppy feeling. He gazed over at his boyfriend, who now appeared to be taking the opportunity for a nap. The muscles in his arms were on full show, and just the sight of them set Ianto’s pulse racing. That was an embarrassingly recent discovery; Ianto had realised that he tended to go through phases and right now he was in the middle of what Jack called his ‘being held up against a wall’ stage. Jack was pretty much strong enough, and liked to indulge him where he could. Although acrobatics in the shower were out of bounds after Jack had nearly knocked himself out. There were limits.

It hadbeen good up that point though.

He was vaguely aware that he was making drunken doe eyes, and shook himself out of it, settling in to watch the film curled up against Jack’s open posture. It was nice. A bit too close to domesticity to be completely relaxing, but in all honesty he was still too knackered and borderline drunk to fight it right now and Jack really was very comfy. And smelled amazing. And was actually behaving.  
That, mixed with their dimmed lights was enough to once again lull him down into a light snooze instead of concentrating on the film. Of course, Jack being Jack meant that he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for five minutes before he started mouthing off again. He missed the first few seconds of whatever he was saying, dragging himself back into consciousness just in time to hear that familiar, confident drawl snap into fairly spot-on, vaguely Oxbridge accent. Interesting. 

Con man indeed. Although he’d heard Jack’s attempt at Welsh, which was always hilarious. His Scottish was pretty good though, probably courtesy from years of mocking Archie from Two.

“ - especially when given the right incentive.”

He resisted the urge to laugh. There it was. Never let it be said that Jack Harkness was afraid to play dirty. Oh God, if ever there was an image that turned him on it was Jack in a properly fitted suit and radiating his natural confidence. He pulled his hips away, subtly trying to draw Jack’s attention away from the fact that his body seemed to have a will of its own. Fuck’s sake. There was at least an hour left of the film after all, and in his drunken state he was far more pliable to forgo punishment.

“I’ll add it to the list.” He said, trying to get the image of Jack Harkness, International Spy out of his head, and failing miserably. “You’ll be needing a new suit.” He added. Anything to replace that monstrosity that he knew was at the hub. Just because Jack had no shame didn’t mean that he did.

“Think I can get away with expensing it?”

Ianto laughed, knowing exactly how he’d justify ‘suit to shag the boss in’ on the expense forms. Fuck it, he might even just leave it at that and see how the Windsors took it. “I’ll have a word.” He said. “Now shut up.”

And, to give him full credit, he did. Jack was a lot of things; impulsive, cocky, shameless, but he wasn’t stupid. And he knew full well how to play this little game of theirs as well as Ianto did, and how to reap the rewards he was waiting for. Still, after half an hour of peace had gone by until Jack broke it. ‘Well done, that was a record and half’, he wanted to say, but the words fell short when he looked up.  
Jack’s eyes were closed, almost clenched and he looked as though he was in pain.

Ianto sat up, moving his weight off Jack’s arm. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d gotten cramp from lying like this, but Jack still didn’t move, or even acknowledge that Ianto had gotten up.

“Jack.” He said softly, reaching out to jostle him. “You alright?”

Nothing.

Right.

First things first, he turned the TV off. He’d seen Jack like this a couple of times before, and noise never helped. He’d done a little bit of digging after the first time and although he’d never actively said anything, Jack showed a fair amount of the symptoms for PTSD. Whether it was actually the case or not, he didn’t know, but Ianto was certain that he could guess the source.

Jack had, for all intents and purposes, lived a long life bouncing from battlefield to battlefield. He’d certainly hinted enough about various places he’d been to, and it had only taken the smallest bit of effort to corroborate the dates and Jack’s absences. Ianto prided himself on knowing things, after all, and Jack was a special case.

He was so fucking difficult in other ways though; he enjoyed portraying himself as a bit of a lad, with a cheeky glint in his eye and a long line of broken hearts behind him, but the reality behind that was rather the opposite. Work Jack was one man, and Home Jack was completely different. But the third and most elusive was the man that sometimes appeared after the others had gone home for the day.

The quiet, fragile and emotionally numb Jack that barely said a word and let Ianto just guide him into the car and back to the flat for a quiet night in. The one that disappeared in the middle of the night to stare at the stars from atop of Cardiff’s tallest buildings, longing to be back amongst them. He knew Hart had offered, Jack had hinted as much, but Ianto didn’t want to know how much of a temptation it had been. Jack had chosen them, after all.

And anyway, if anyone could understand that feeling of bleak numbness, it was Ianto. Those few months after losing Lisa, then his mam, he’d have done anything to just feel something. And Jack, for all of his faults and input into their somewhat tumultuous ‘friendship’, had been an excellent distraction. He only hoped that he could be the same in reverse.

A tear slipped free and Ianto followed it with his thumb, erasing it from existence.

He worried a lot. About himself, about work, about reaching thirty. Fuck, sometimes he worried about reaching his next birthday and that was only a few months away. If he did that then it would be an achievement in itself. But lately he was starting to worry more and more about Jack. He was a good leader, but very different to how Yvonne had been. She’d been all about the details and had been a genuine people person, managing and overseeing hundreds with an easy expertise, taking it all in her stride.

Jack was more openly instinctive, passionate and curious, overly trusting and able to forgive more than anyone else Ianto had met. But he was incredibly decisive when it mattered, especially now he’d returned from his trip away with Him. But that was where the problem lay. Jack got too involved, often compromised himself emotionally and picked up the pieces when nobody was looking, to save face and show the world how strong he was. Except now, Ianto waslooking. And now he’d noticed, it was hard to stop.

“I’m here.” He said, and leant over to press a kiss against his forehead. “It’s alright Jack, I’m here.”

The trembling slowed, and he could practically see Jack knitting himself back together behind his eyelids before he came back with a shaky and somewhat wobbly smile.

“Film over already? Time to hold up your end of the bargain, Mr Jones.” He said, with a brave stab at flirtation, hands already roaming upwards on autopilot.

He hesitated as the dilemma hit. Did he want to vocalise it, delve into whatever it was that was bothering him? Or was that too pushy? Did Jack want to talk about it? Would it help? Make it worse? Would it change what they were and leave them both lonelier for it? Too many questions and not enough answers. He’d never been good at this sort of thing.

He made his decision and leant forward to press another kiss against Jack’s forehead, this time one that he was aware of. He wouldn’t push for anything. He loved his futuristic nutter of a boyfriend and just hoped that he could give him just some level of comfort while he could. It certainly wasn’t a hardship to do so, especially when Jack was equally as keen to reciprocate. And if Jack wanted more than that, if he needed it, then Ianto would be right there waiting.

He was greeted with a proper smile when he pulled away; a soft, genuine lopsided Harkness smile that reached his eyes.

They’d be alright. Torchwood be damned, they’d be alright.

He took his time, connecting with Jack the only way he really knew how, by giving him something else to think about instead of whatever chasm of negativity Jack had fallen into. And it was worth it; taking him apart piece by piece and putting him back together again, the way Jack had done with him once upon a time, back at the start. The distraction was what he needed right now, and as expected, Jack launched on the opportunity with both hands. So to speak.

And afterwards, when Jack clung to him a little tighter than usual he didn’t say anything. It wasn’t very often that he was the little spoon, but he seemed to enjoy Ianto’s embrace and even laced their fingers very firmly together. Christ. It killed him to see Jack this vulnerable and not be able to help.

“No pressure,” he said, quietly “but you can talk to me, if you need to.” Gently, leaving the choice with him. There was no pressure, but God did he wish that Jack would just let him in. 

He knew that it wouldn’t work in the long term. He knew he’d be dead in the next few years, and that Jack would be left behind, still soldiering on. Why on earth should Jack open up to him only to lose him afterwards. Logically, it made sense to keep his distance. In terms of their fledgling relationship and Ianto’s already battered self-confidence it was like a stab to the gut.

He was being selfish, he knew. It wouldn’t matter in the end. However bad he felt, Jack probably felt worse. And though they both knew that they wouldn’t have a long life together, maybe he could just give him some sort of happiness. Even for a time.

“I’d even throw in a couple of retcon.” He continued, and squeezed Jack even closer.

The teasing tone worked, as the tension starting to slip away and Jack’s shoulders loosened ever so slightly. The knot of anxiety in Ianto’s stomach eased up, as though directly connected. He’d be ok. They’d be ok. If he repeated enough then maybe he’d start to believe it. _I love you,_ he thought, though this time it was a relief to admit. _I wish you loved me._

He’d meant it though; if that was what it took to make him happy, if Jack needed to say the words out loud then he’d be happy to lose a couple of hours worth of memories. He’d do a lot more if he had to, if he was asked. Jack had had to cope for long enough by himself already.

After all, contrary to popular belief, it wasn’t a trail of broken hearts that Jack left behind him, it was the fragments of his own.

**Author's Note:**

> Not my show, not my characters etc. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Peace & Love x


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